


Enamoured

by HarJIT



Category: El Goonish Shive
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarJIT/pseuds/HarJIT
Summary: Tedd/Elliot AU fic.  Certainly not autobiographical, but inspired by my own experiences, and to an extent wish fulfilment and coping with own trauma by considering what may have gone differently.As such, content warnings for: self-harm, religious abuse (especially related to orgasm control), underage sex (with no adult involvement), internalised LGBTphobia, system persecutors.Chapter heading breaks usually signal a change in perspective, but I'm writing and thus publishing this in larger fascicles, which therefore serve as AO3 ‘Chapters’.
Relationships: Elliot Dunkel/Tedd Verres
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Fascicle 1 (Chapters 1–4)

## Fascicle 1

### Chapter 1

For a brief moment, Elliot catches your gaze.

You weren't looking at him: you were looking at the screen, or else gazing into the distance. Looking at people took effort, and you had other things to focus on than that, such as the JavaScript game you were working on. School systems might have restricted access to a lot of things, but so long as you had access to a browser, you could amuse yourself.

Elliot, for his part, had some understanding of what you were doing, but perhaps did not understand the passion with which you were working. For you, the thrill of seeing your creation come to life, to see your work pay off and something useful or entertaining arise from it, was enough.

You had first encountered Elliot many years ago. He was one of the few who truly understood you, you felt; the others often saw your weirdness as a reason to avoid you, or to find humour in your responses, behaviour or mannerisms. He was one of the few with common interests, with common ground from which a bond could develop. Since then, nary a breaktime or lunchtime had passed without the two of you being inseparable.

You feel Elliot's hand, gently against your shoulder, and turn to face him. His eyes lock your gaze. You focus on his visage and see… something. Longing, almost. Discomfort starts to rise within you.

For what seems like an age, the two of you remain frozen. You feel your cheeks flush warm, unsettled by the invasion of your personal space. You see Elliot blush in turn.

„You're very cute when you're excited”, Elliot mumbles. You blush stronger, cringe almost at the—well-meaning, you know him enough to know—distinctly condescending tone. Elliot, seemingly sensing your discomfort, releases your shoulder, turns around, and slowly heads for the door.

For the rest of the day, nothing more was said on the matter.

### Chapter 2

You had, of course, been a fool.

If you were serious with your zeal to stand up for those unfairly picked on, being considerate to Tedd would have been important. Yet, you didn't. You had allowed your flesh impulses, your idle thoughts, take the better of you, and you'd upset the person you were trying to help. You had ruined everything, on your watch.

Idle thoughts assail you. Telling you that you merely need to apologise. Telling you that nothing else you could do would solve anything, how you did not need to be punished, how it would be antithetical to your values to do anything drastic. Telling you that you should not behave any differently than you would demand of others to behave. Idle thoughts, intrusions, the selfsame thorns of the flesh that had gotten you into this pickle in the first place, the selfsame inhibitions you had been unable to overcome, the selfsame which rendered you impotent, incapable of defending yourself, incapable of making any real difference in the world.

You step outside of the classroom, retrieve your bottle of water, and clobber yourself repeatedly, struggling against your idle, carnal inhibitions, but striking fast enough that they cannot hold you back this time. This behaviour would be a mystery the following morning, you remain aware. You were never able to keep a conviction through sleep. Your carnal, idle, flaws would not allow you to.

You know not how you could face Tedd now.

* * *

You awake.

You are feeling rather more optimistic about meeting Tedd again this morning. True to prediction, you cannot truly understand why you had felt the need to do what you did, as you gingerly feel the still-tender bruises on your forehead and arm. You think back over your thoughts. Your commitments to drastic action rush back over you, to considerable alarm. _That_ , you actually committed to do; _that_ , you did truly want to do, and only carnal weakness had held you back. You truly want to be a good boy, but unshackled, you truly are a monster.

You struggle through breakfast, through cleaning teeth, through travel to school. How can you be a good person, when despite every effort you make, they are to no effect, if that's what you truly are? Despair descends upon you like a burst of moist air. You don't want to kill people, do you? You don't _want_ to want to, but is that inhibition, or reality? You are a time-bomb, ready to become the next school shooter as soon as you are upset enough.

You arrive at the school. You are unarmed. You are in comparatively good spirits. Long may this continue.

### Chapter 3

You awake, mind racing.

You cannot be gay. Forasmuch as you had privately salivated, or pleasured yourself to the recollected visages and voices of your girl colleagues, you felt no attraction to the boys in your classes. Whatsoëver.

You should not be gay. Homosexuality is unnatural, it is contrary to the purpose of sexual attraction. As a mental faculty functioning contrary to how it should, it is a mental illness. It is something to be coped with, not entertained.

You must not be gay. You had experienced repeated emotional and physical abuse from classmates who thought you looked like a girl, and upon being informed otherwise, regarded you as ‘gay’. Actually _being_ gay was not an option.

You might not be gay. The struggles which gay people went through were theirs to recount. You did not get to appropriate their struggles for your own teenage mood phases, unless you could demonstrate they genuinely applied to you, not just through incidental mistake.

But why had Elliot done that?

You were, assuredly, overthinking things. Elliot was a close, tender friend of yours. Friend, a rare, cherished category. Someöne with whom you could share private information which you would not share with family. Someöne with whom you shared a years-old, powerful social and emotional bond over common interests. Something more than an acquaintance, a classmate, a colleague or someöne in your year.

It is normal for friends to compliment one another, right?

You should play it cool. Meet Elliot as usual, and pretend you never made baseless assumptions about his actions. You cringe in shame as you realise how you had jumped to conclusions.

Now at school, you encounter a very flustered, wide-eyed and wired looking Elliot. You mumble a greeting.

„Tedd.”

You look up slightly.

„I'm sorry if that was… a bit rude of me yesterday. I should have respected your boundaries and personal space, and I shouldn't have talked down to you. I never make promises, but I will do all I can to make that not happen again.”

Taken aback, you catch Elliot's eyes. You see regret, and yet… longing?

Is this a crush? No, you quickly deduce, you feel no different about Elliot than you did before. You had never seen the point of dating: dating, you felt, was for sex, and sex was for sexual release, and you got that for yourself anyway, without the trouble of potentially harming others or causing them to violate their religious convictions. But you knew the adge, that the secret to a happy marriage was to be best friends before you were married and… you truly could not imagine living the rest of your life with anyone besides Elliot.

Marriages did not have to be sexual, right? Or romantic, for that matter. But what were you thinking?

You manage a murmoured „that's okay, I don't mind”. Elliot seems to sense your continued discomfort and does not push the matter further.

* * *

Quite aside from the interest you take in mathematics, you are permitted to sit next to Elliot.

As is often a playful annoyance enacted by yourself and your colleagues upon the classmates they are seated beside, you claw a hand, press all five nails against Elliot's kneecap, and unclaw your hand, such that all five digits stroke against his knee in different directions. Unexpectedly, Elliot does not react against this or knock your hand away.

Your mind is yet racing further beyond, as Elliot pauses, and then returns the favour. You are wearing standard uniform trousers, so no funny business can ensue, you reason, but the sense of his fingers brushing against your leg seems… different. Not by any rational difference, but since you had been idly thinking. Elliot was the only person you trusted enough to let touch your genitals: none of the girls you had salivated over the thought of losing control and wetting themselves in the corridor were people you felt close enough to to let them do that.

You place a hand on Elliot's thigh, and slowly stroke it toward his torso. Elliot freezes, turns to you, turns scarlet and, after a protracted, pregnant pause, swats your arm away.

### Chapter 4

You know not Tedd's thoughts, but yours differ considerably, yet are strangely similar.

Similarly to Tedd, you had picked up a habit of pleasuring yourself for release. Sadly. Your inability to kick this habit is the primary reason you fear death.

The worst fate, you had been taught, was to die in your sins. Sexual sins, you were taught, were all adultery: he who looks upon a woman to lust has committed adultery in his heart. From pornography to masturbation to premaritial sex to maritial infidelity to child trafficking, all were part of the same, incredibly serious sin.

Since marriage was between man and woman, and sex outside of marriage was adultery, you had been taught, gay sex was a serious sin. Not that this warrented mistreatment of gay people: you would step in and valiantly oppose any unchristlike treatment of any person, including for being gay. But you would never participate in it, and could only exhort others the same.

But… Tedd? You glance upward. Your gazes again lock. You melt under his warm, longing expression.

Stupid thorns of the flesh. You reach over and place your hand on Tedd's thigh. Tedd grabs your arm, pulling your hand toward his crotch. At the last minute, you pull your hand away, smarting with how close you had gotten to such a serious act.

Sometime, something would have to give.

Swing it, you decide: if you were damned anyway, if you had failed to manage to repent this long, you would ignore the current of despair and self-hatred and fear and grief underpinning every waking moment of your life, just for a moment. You reach under the desk for the third time, feeling the length of Tedd's inner thighs until you make out the shape of his now-engorged genitals. You grap his trousers, pulling up fabric from the leg to give some slack, and grip his member through the leg, sliding the loose skin back and forth. Tedd whimpers mutedly; you look around alarmedly, but the rest of the class seem to have not noticed.

After what seems like an age, but cannot have been more than thirty seconds, Tedd softly, subtly spasms, and you feel a warm wetness spread across his dark trousers where you are holding them. Your mind rushes as you snatch your hand back, as you sink into deeper despair for your salvation.

* * *

After class, you enter the lavatory, close the cubicle door, and beat your face and arm until they are black and blue.


	2. Fascicle 2 (Chapters 5–7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More catharsis on my part and very little joy. Again, this is deliberately fictional and does not accurately correspond to real events (e.g. neither Elliot nor Tedd is necessarily analogised to be me, although my portrayal of both are inspired by my experiences), but is strongly inspired by certain experiences of mine.

## Fascicle 2

### Chapter 5

Your heart is pounding fiercely. Could it be?

You know Elliot well enough to know how significant this is. You know that it is something which flies in the face of Elliot's convictions. It strikes you as a rock, how conflicted Elliot must be feeling over this. But your classmates… yet they knew nothing, only Elliot knew, and Elliot would protect you.

Even so, the verbal and physical abuse you had recieved for your femininity comes rushing back at you. The one thing that you had clung to, that they were liars, because you were not gay, and could not be gay, looks progressively less plausible. But you weren't, or aren't, are you? Any prospect of concentrating on your exercises has long departed, as the fear of your classmates and despair for respite looms again above you.

But Elliot? Elliot had been your respite.

Fluid continues to dribble down the side of your thigh, not readily visible through the dark trouser fabric, but causing it to cling uncomfortably to your skin upon contact. You reach down, grab the material and crudely shove your now-flaccid genitals back into your underwear.

* * *

Come breaktime, Elliot is nowhere to be seen. This is a cause for concern.

If he had been there for you, you had a duty to be there for him, you reason. It is very unlike him to be absent like this. You ask around; nobody seems to have seen him since leaving class.

 _Nevermind_ , you reason, _there is probably a mundane explanation for this_ , as fears of suicide flood the back of your mind.

Come lunchtime, you catch Elliot, eating, looking distinctly like he had been mugged. Your stomach plummets through your pelvis.

„Elliot?”, you start? Elliot looks up, fear in his eyes, and makes hasty motions to pack up and move. Realising something to be terribly wrong, you surge forth and grab him firmly by the shoulder. He makes a half-hearted attempt to free himself, as terror floods his visage.

His mouth opens. No audible words are heard.

„I-is there anything I can do?”, you offer, lamely.

Elliot manages a faint, hoarse „Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me ever again. Pretend we never met.” before slapping your hand so suddenly and forcefully that you uncontrollably yelp in pain. Freed from your grasp, Elliot rapidly retreats to the other side of the quad. You, dazzled, do not pursue him.

Something is badly wrong, and it seems that Elliot can no longer bear to be in your presence. Is this your fault? You are hardly free of blame, it hits you, since it was you who had made motions to escalate the action from innocent knee-pranking to something explicitly sexual. Was this rape? Elliot had not, at any point, given explicit, verbal permission for you to do what you did. Yet he had been free to snatch his hand away at any time, or to deflect yours, and had indeed done so. Besides, you had eventually been entirely passive in the action, and it was hardly your responsibility to force Elliot to abide by his own precepts. Yet, could you not be a guardian of them, rather than tempting him away?

The brief glimpse of Elliot's heavily bruised appearance which you had gotten is burned into your retina, as your mind tries to reconstruct how it appeared, how serious or concerning it was, from the incomplete picture you have in recollection. Might this escalate to suicide? You reason that this must be self-harm, since it cannot have come from another source… yet, since Elliot had not left the school premises, and the staff were not aware… right? They didn't administer corporal punishment anyway… right? Not that this is especially comforting.

Powerless to help or even make amends, you retreat to a lavatory and weep uncontrollably until afternoon registration.

### Chapter 6

„…and amputate my thumbs and big toes and earlobes while castrating me without anæsthetic and branding my skin with a hot iron a heathen, a liar, an abuser, a molester and a fraudster who betrays his friends, and scourging my back with a whip tipped with razor-sharp needles, laced with poison ivy!” you finish, and send the e-mail to your form tutor, year tutor, parents and local priest.

That felt good. At least you had _done_ something.

You think on who you are. What can you be, if you've done something this serious? You thought you were someöne who would never do such a thing. If you could be brought to do it once, you could be brought to do it again. Especially without preservation of your lifelong clean streak to motivate you.

Nothing else seemed to work. Only once had you gotten a clean streak from masturbation, for even a week, and after breaking it had never gotten one again. Not even now that you were reporting regular statistics of your masturbation habits to said local priest in accordance with instruction, in a largely inefficacious attempt to reduce your frequency.

Why can you not just be good?

You wonder how the individuals will respond to that. Thoughts intrude, that they'd respond badly, that it'd only make the situation worse, that you should not have and will live to shortly regret sending it. You hadn't confessed, but had made it obvious you had done _something_ bad: was that not an inherent contradiction? You disregard such foolish stubbornness of the flesh, which have theretofore caused you so much setback.

Tedd was your only friend, your only social anchor, you cannot imagine a schoolday without him, you'd have nothing to look forward to waking up. All intrusive thoughts, all vain intrusions of your stubborn vessel holding you back from being the good person you, fancifully, view yourself as truly being. You should have shunned him as soon as any thought of… doing things with him… had come up. You had _wanted_ to shun him, in fine, but you had not. Why? Stupid thorns of the flesh, stopping you ever achieving anything, ever doing what you want, ever committing to anything without your commitment being wiped out come the next morning, to only return in full force when you found yourself in… this frame of mind. Why can you not sustain it?

„Just play for time,” thoughts continue to intrude, „you'll be done with this come next morning.” But you are entirely done with giving that weak, carnal, useless facet of yourself any heed. It is such a shame that you will, unpreventably, wake into that state, you feel.

You are not the ‘Elliot’ that people know. You look upon that name, and you loathe it. The time will yet come that you shall be known for your great and terrible works, not by your name.

### Chapter 7

You corner Elliot at registration. Since you were seated next to one another, he would have been hard pressed to escape. Howbeit, he positions himself as far away from you as chair and desk will allow, facing anywhere but where you are visible.

„Elliot,”

„I SAID, DON'T TALK TO ME!”

„I'm sorry, Elliot.”

„That's Azazel to you, and it's too late. I've ruined it forever, and but for you, I wouldn't've. DO NOT. TALK TO ME. EVER AGAIN.”

Azazel… what on earth could that mean?

„Azazel, what's that?”

„THE BLOODY DEVIL INCARNATE,” Elliot responds through gritted teeth. „YOU, CRETIN, will address me as none other.”

This reaction is very odd, but you know Elliot is struggling with severe religious guilt. He, you deduce, despairs the possibility of salvation or becoming what he sees as a moral person, and has presumably resigned himself to not being, and you are a walking reminder of this. Heartbroken, and lost for any other option, your vicarious frustration over what you knew he'd been torturing himself over, or been being tortured by others over, throughout the past several years explodes.

„I don't know how to break this to you, but of course there is definitely a devil. Because what your priest says is always true, right. Because it's what you've always done, what you've always believed, what you've always been taught, that makes it true, right?” you respond sardonically.

* * *

You slump back down onto the desk, supine, panting for breath, as Elliot is led out of the room.

You try to make sense of what has just happened. Elliot had bellowed something which you had been too stunned to make out, then suddenly, you had been flung, crashed down onto the desk, and suddenly could not breathe.

Once you regain your balance, you sit up, climb down and resume your seat, ears ringing, throat still sore where Elliot had presumably been throttling you.

A few minutes later, your form tutor returns, commands you out of the room, and pins you against the wall.

„What,” she asks, „the hell, happened at lunchtime?”

You don't know how to respond, don't know how much to reveal. You don't want to bring yourself or Elliot into any more trouble.

She senses your lack of the answer and, perhaps mistakenly concluding you to be as clueless as she is, brings you back into the room, leads you to her desk, and shows you an e-mail. You notice it to be from Elliot.

You start reading. Your stomach plummets. You continue. You feel sick. You read to the end. Ooooohhhhhh, your mouth feels with saliva, your head spins, your stomach turns; you clench tighly against your wrist in a struggle not to throw up as you stumble back against the wall, your legs give in, and you find yourself seated on the floor.


	3. Fascicle 3 (chapters 8–9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It probably shouldn't come as so much of a surprise as it does, given what I've been through, that portrayals of a sort of wonderland where adolescents can be sexually open with friends with no negative consequences and without any adults in sight would speak to me at a deep level (whereäs portrayals of sexual interactions between adults and much younger minors strike me, as with presumably most people, as often not being in good taste).
> 
> „Dreams are more precious than gold”, as the Enya song proclaims. I should add additional heads-ups for greater focus on some bodily fluids than previously, including urine, and for some dreamlike indications intended to vaguely but never surely suggest genitals perhaps shifting vaguely through intermediate stages. Some of the dream elements are completely made up, some are almost verbatim from what very little I ever retain from sleep, and some are very loosely based on that.

## Fascicle 3

### Chapter 8

The sense of triumph is disturbing.

Your form tutor had walked up to you and pushed you, not that hard, but that had stunned you into wresting control and releasing Tedd.

You are not a murderer, are you? Yet you feel a sense of growing triumph, like this were something you'd… always wanted to do?

Even through the ensuing school suspension, you cannot see yourself as reformed. Because although you were sure you weren't the sort of person to make an attempt on the life of your best friend in broad daylight in a form room full of people… you had.

* * *

You are back in the classroom. Tedd is beside you. Noöne else is around.

Tedd reaches over, and places his hand… her hand… on your thigh. You are back in Tedd's basement, on the couch. Tedd leans in toward you. You look into her eyes, see longing, desire. You fall back.

No adults are in sight. There are no doors. The place is cozy and isolated.

You rest on the sofa as Tedd judiciously brushes a toothbrush across your crotch. Back and forth, back and forth… then in. Your body briefly, softly spasms, as your erectile member inflates. Tedd leans in; you feel her warm, moist breath, the flapping of her tongue against the tip sending waves of pleasure through your lower abdomen. The continued light tickling of the toothbrush against your sensitive walls.

As the tension builds, you clench; as the bristles stop brushing, the heel of the brush presses into your engorged glands. Light floods the room as the floodgates open, as pleasure floods your entire frame and mixed fluids flood the seat below you. Tedd is standing above you, bottomless, feet straddling your head, her engorged genitals in full view as you reach up, grab onto her as she preciously twitches at your touch. As her legs give way and you let go, you feel the contours of her buttocks press into your bosom, as your own genitals begin again to tumesce, moreso as her cheeks begin to slide backward across your torso toward them.

Tedd takes your wrist firmly and pulls it once more toward her groin. You crawl your fingers across her thigh, coming to rest against her pelvic mound, and slide your thumb forward, then back, then forward and in, as Tedd audibly gasps. An uncontrolled burst of urine jets out into your cleavage. Tedd impulsively retreats, catching your own engorged member in her gluteal cleft as you spasm in anticipation. You replace your thumb with two fingers, which Tedd proceeds to ride up and down, still with your own erect rod gripped between her buttocks, until you orgasm your mind out, and come around in your bed, pyjamas drenched in ejaculate.

You think on this. You weren't accountable for the content of your dreams, were you? But what did this mean?

### Chapter 9

You are on a rolling hillside. The sky is blue, the grass is green, people are milling around, but there is no crowding. Birds sing; the wind blows strongly, regulating the heat from the beating sun above. You are wearing a breathable pink sleeveless frock, cutting off shortly above your knees, creating a cool breeze around your legs and groin. You shake your head, feeling the ends of your hair swoosh against your shoulders. You reach up and push your glasses back into position on your nose.

A bell rings. Unsure of the significance, you observe the others, milling around, behaving in that playground manner which would always be a mystery to you. You notice a gate at the bottom of the hill, leading through a hedge out of the meadow, and see the others begin to filter through in pairs, holding hands. You notice that the others seem to be pairing up, each with what looks like an opposite-gender version of themself, and heading toward this gate. You look around for anyone whom you would recognise as your partner, and see none.

You reach the gate. People are swarming through beside you, but you are missing any companion. You are missing, you interpret, a sexual partner. In desperation, you coercively grab someone from the milling crowd. Upon doing this, the vision closes.

Still in your summer dress, you find yourself in a forest, seated on a bench with Elliot. There are no adults in sight. You are holding hands. Elliot's other hand is pressed firmly into her crotch, between her tightly crossed legs. She meets your gaze, desperation in her eyes.

„It's okay,” you say, soothingly. „Everything will be alright.”

Seemingly realising only you are around, Elliot lifts her skirt, tucking it below her chin. You grap her underpants and pull them to one side, not a moment too soon as a jet of urine shoots out, drawing a damp line across the dry brush and soil of the path, slowing to a trickle as Elliot grits her teeth and sucks in air.

„I don't mind,” you hear yourself saying. „Noöne's around.”

You put two fingers against Elliot's vulva and spread them in a V, and press with the heel of your wrist against her bladder. A fountain bursts forth, drenching the undergrowth on the other side of the path, and spraying to a lesser extent all over the bench and your fingers, wrist and palm. This continues for what seems like forever.

Noticing, in a sudden pang, your own comparable desperation, you reach under your own skirt and do likewise. With your skirt pinned to your abdomen by your arms, your own vulva is plainly on show to Elliot. But because it's Elliot, you don't mind.

You suddenly plummet and come around to the real world, urine streaming into your bedding.


End file.
